A Tale of Two Side Effects
by expelliTARDIS
Summary: Augustine was the most beautiful girl Hazel had ever seen. Lucky Hazel- Augustine was also lesbian. Inevitably, the two side effects fall in love...til death do us part.
1. Chapter 1

Dear Peter,

I suppose I could start by saying that we are all side effects. But you already know that. _You_ told _me_ that. However, it feels like an appropriate beginning to my story. It feels _right_. So I will say it: We are all side effects. Life itself is a side effect of death. All things must come to an end. I suppose the only reason we start is because nothing can end before it begins.

Having made my statement- _your_ statement, really- I will begin the action. It really all began with a book. Yes, it was your book. _An Imperial Affliction._ I read it constantly, hardly touching other books. My mother called it an obsession, but to me it was more like a friend. A friend who understood me fully and completely. The main character's struggle against cancer was _my_ struggle (also against cancer). I could only hope that my story wouldn't end in the middle of a sentence, as hers had. It was this "obsession" that landed me in a Support Group.

My mother was worried that I was depressed, and talked to my doctor. My regular doctor, not my cancer doctor. They agreed that Support Group was a good idea, so a week later my mother dragged me off to the Episcopal Church so I could sit in the basement with other sick kids and listen to a guy named Patrick talk about his own struggle (which ended when he lost both his balls) and Jesus. The people were generally nice, but I only had one real friend there, and even we didn't talk much. That's Isaac, by the way. He had blond hair that fell over his left eye, which wasn't even there. He had lost it about a year earlier, but he's still wasn't done. His right eye had become threatened by the same cancer that took his left. Which was too bad really. Even I would be sad if he lost his sight. Not just because I felt sorry for him, although I did, but because our friendship consisted mostly of sighs. There is plenty to sigh about at Support Group, since people talk about things that don't matter, and don't make sense, and bore us to the bone. But if you're heard sighing, it's rude. Our solution is to mime sighing, not enough to be noticed by people not watching for it, but enough to say, "I agree. This is boring and useless, and I too would rather be at home acting depressed and doing nothing else at all." It is amazing, when you think about it, how much one can communicate with a single, slightly exaggerated rise and fall of the shoulders.

Without eyes, Isaac will never see another sigh.

One bright, sunny day last May, I was on my way to another session of Support Group. It was too nice a day for anyone to want to sit in the basement of a church and talk about the disease that many of us would eventually die from (myself included, it's a side effect), but not especially cheerful or full of expectation, not like the kind of day that could change a life. And so I walked down the steps and took a cookie and some lemonade and a chair across the circle from Issac's usual seat, and waited for monotony. Instead, I got a surprise.

Isaac came, as usual, but he wasn't alone. There was a girl with him, and it wasn't even Monica. Monica was his girlfriend, but she never actually came in. I'd never seen this girl before. She had light brown hair, poker-straight and soft as snow, and almond-shaped green eyes beneath dark-lashed single lids. And I couldn't stop staring at her. At the light spray of freckles across her smooth, pale-bronze skin. At the way her hair was falling out from behind her ears in light brown cobwebs. At everything about her. And what's more, she was staring right back at me.

The girl sat down next to Isaac. Her eyes caught mine and held my gaze. It made me uncomfortable, and I looked down, blushing. A moment later Support Group began. We all went around and said our name, and what sort of cancer we had, and how we were doing. As usual, I said I was Hazel, thyroid originally but with mets in my lungs, and I'm okay. I said okay because it is a word that people rarely question, and because it's true. I had an oxygen tank that I wheeled around behind me, so I could breathe just fine.

I pretty much just zoned out until we'd gotten most of the way around the circle. Few people gave honest answers that revealed their true condition: some, like me, gave vague answers, others pretended to be more cheerful than they really felt. Isaac was in the latter group. It had been confirmed that he would lose his other eye, he told us, trying hard to keep his voice from cracking. We all responded that we were "here for you, Isaac". And then it was the new girl's turn.

"Will you introduce your friend to us, Isaac?" asked Patrick.

"I think that was a rhetorical question," said Isaac. "Uh, this is Augustine, so, yeah."

"Is she your girlfriend?" someone asked.

"No," said Isaac.

"Would you like to introduce yourself, Augustine?" asked Patrick.

"Okay," said the girl. Her voice was low and musical, like poetry waiting to be written. "I'm Augustine. I have lymphoma, but I'm doing very well. Considering."

And Support Group meeting continued from there, with nothing else unusual happening in any way, shape, or form. It was just boring old Support Group. I could almost forget that Augustine was there...

Almost.


	2. Chapter 2

At this point in the story I have chosen to include a script for a normal conversation between my mother and me on Support Group days:

**Mom:** Hazel, get you shoes on. We have to leave for Support Group in ten minutes.

**Me:** I don't _want_ to go.

**Mom:** Come _on_, Hazel.

**Me:** Ugh. _Please_ can I skip, just this once?

**Mom:** *sighs* No. And now you have five minutes. Do you even know where your shoes are?

**Me:** No. That's why I can't go.

**Mom:** They're in your room.

Something like that, anyway. But in the end I always ended up going. Mom and Dad seem to think it helps me stay about as healthy as a side effect of cancer who needs help breathing can be, so I do it. It would suck to kick the bucket from cancer, but I knew it was nothing compared to what my parents would go through if I died. _That _would be the worst, to have your only kid kick the bucket.

Now, here's a script for the same conversation, a week after I met Augustine:

**Mom:** Hazel, get your shoes on. We have to leave for Support Group in ten minutes.

**Me:** Okay, where are they?

**Mom:** In your room.

**Me:** Can you get them for me? I'm going to set the TV to record all the episodes of America's Next Top Model that I'll miss.

**Mom:** Wow, Hazel, you seem cheerful today.

**Me:** Um…

I didn't want to tell her about my crush on the new girl. Not yet, anyway. It can be hard to have crushes on girls when most of them prefer boys. I'd never had a girlfriend, although that might have had something to do with how antisocial I can be. But I wanted to get to Support Group, to see Augustine again. Even if she didn't _like_ me didn't mean she could like me, as a friend. That's what I told myself, anyway.

Isaac was already there when Mom dropped me off at the Episcopal Church.

"Hey, Isaac," I said as casually as possible as I made my way to my usual seat.

"Hey."

"Where's your friend?"

"You mean Augustine? I'm not sure. She's coming on her own today, so she should be here any minute. Why?"

I sat down, not sure whether to feel relieved or nervous. "Just wondering. I couldn't really think of much else to say."

Isaac gave a slight laugh. "I know that feeling."

People were trickling in. Most people take the stairs, although there is an elevator. That's because taking the elevator is a sign that you are too weak, too sick to take the stairs. It's better to prove your strength than to slack off. The only exception are people in wheelchairs, who can't walk downstairs no matter how healthy they are. I even carry my oxygen cart down them, even though it would be much easier to just wheel it into the elevator.

It was only five minutes, but it seemed much longer before Augustine arrived. Her long hair shone in the small triangle of sunlight that streamed its way down the stairs behind her. She had something pink tucked under her arm- a book or journal- and was running her finger along its spine nervously. She glanced around at the circle of plastic chairs and sat down next to Isaac. He'd saved her a seat.

Support Group sessions always begin with saying our names, how we feel, etc., and end with a prayer in remembrance of the Support Group members who have died (there are a _lot_) and everyone saying "living our best life today", a dumb mantra, really, with lots of false enthusiasm. Somewhere in the middle we are given the opportunity to share something more specific, and we have to discuss a topic chosen by Patrick. Sometimes it involves singing along to his guitar, or drawing a picture, et cetera. On that particular day, we were sharing our fears.

Most people were afraid of the same things: their cancer getting worse, someone else in their family getting cancer, failure. I didn't know what to say, so I said I didn't like snakes. (I don't have a problem with snakes). Isaac said he was afraid of failure, although I knew his real fear was of the inevitable blindness. And Augustine was afraid of death. Something about the sincerity with which she made this confession reminded me of something. I don't know why I said it, though. Augustine was staring at me as I cleared my throat, and her eyes had opened up a black hole in the pit of my stomach. It surprised me when words came out of my mouth, seemingly of their own accord. I couldn't have said anything so eloquent if my brain had been involved. But the words had already been written for me. They were directly out of _An Imperial Affliction_.

"We are all side effects. Life itself is a side effect of death. All things must come to an end. I suppose the only reason we start is because nothing can end before it begins. To fear death is to fear life, Augustine." Her name felt like honey on my tongue, sweet yet sticky.

Augustine gave a low whistle. "Whoa," I heard her breathe.

"Thank you, Hazel," said Patrick unemotionally.

I usually zone out until the end of Support Group, but I couldn't. Not completely. I knew I had Augustine's attention, and my eyes kept drifting over to where she was sitting. I had to concentrate to keep from staring. _She doesn't like you,_ I told myself over and over. _Cut it out._ But then my eyes would float right back, as though pulled by an invisible string. Time dragged on in this manner, until, quite abruptly, it was over. After saying Patrick's stupid, _stupid_ mantra, I got up to leave.

"Hazel." I whirled around. It wasn't Isaac's voice… so who? "Did you write that? What you said about death, and side effects?" Augustine was right in front of me, holding my eyes with hers. I could _feel_ her eyes.

"I…no. It's from a book."

Augustine grinned. "Well, I wish _I_ could write like that. It reminded me of what Dumbledore said, about how 'death is but the next great adventure'."

"Um, thanks."

"What book?"

I didn't answer right away. Sometimes you read a book, and then you have to make everyone you know read it too because it was so great. But other books you want to keep to yourself. You want them to be worlds that you alone can exist and revel in, your fantasies untarnished by others. That's what An Imperial Affliction was to me, and I didn't want to spoil it.

"One of my favorites," I replied, trying to be ambiguous.

Fortunately, Augustine changed the subject. "Hey," she said suddenly, "Do you want to come over? Like, now? We could just have dinner and watch Netflix, something chill." She took the book she was carrying out from under her arm and ran her fingers up and down the binding. I could see that it was a notebook, the spiral-bound kind with a cover over the spiral to make it look fancier. It had a design on the front of a bird sitting on a cherry blossom branch.

"Is that a diary?" I asked.

"No," said Augustine. "It's my sketchbook. Here, look." She flipped through a few pages, then handed it to me. There was a drawing of a girl with long hair and almond-shaped eyes. The drawing style had the hair spiky and the eyes large, but it was undoubtedly Augustine.

"Wow," I told her. "That's really good. I like how it's sort of...cartoony."

Augustine squinted at me. "It's an anime self-portrait." I must have looked really blank because she added, "You know what anime is, right?"

"Um, no, not really."

"It's like a Japanese cartoon, kind of. Haven't you ever heard of Blue Exorcist? Sailor Moon? Princess Mononoke?"

I shook my head dumbly.

"You have _got_ to come to my house and be enlightened."

Now she had invited me over twice. It would be rude to decline. Besides, I _wanted_ to go, to spend time with Augustine. Even so, the thought made me feel fluttery. I couldn't get it out of my mind that we would be _just friends_. I felt selfish about it, but I wanted _more_ than that.

My mom's car pulled up. Mom leaned out the window.

"Hey, sweetie. You coming?"

I glanced at Augustine, then back at Mom.

"I'm going to see a movie with my new friend Augustine," I said. "I'll be home by nine-thirty."

"Okay." I could see that Mom was glad that I was socializing, but a little disappointed that I wouldn't be home for dinner. I was pretty sure that we were having kale and quinoa for dinner, something Mom loved and I hated.

Mom drove away, leaving Augustine and me alone on the curb. We were the only ones left in the parking lot, except for Isaac and Monica, who were sitting on the hood of Monica's car making out. We pretended not to notice, sauntering by across the parking lot to where Augustine's car was parked.

"Here we are," said Augustine, stopping by a nondescript silver Toyota. "It's actually my dad's car, but I drive it more than he does." She pulled a key ring out of the pocket of her jeans and unlocked the doors by pressing a button. I slid in on the passenger side next to her. She started the car.

"So," said Augustine as we cruised slowly out of the parking lot. "Tell me about yourself."

"I had thyroid cancer originally, but it spread to my lungs. I have impressive mets that make my lungs suck at being lungs. The only reason I'm still alive is because, when I was thirteen and dying, some doctors tried Phalanxifor on me and it worked against all odds."

"Phalanxifor," Augustine mused. "You could live forever on that stuff, until the cancer becomes resistant."

"Yeah, basically. What sort of cancer do you have?"

"I was diagnosed with serious lymphoma a couple months ago. I'm on chemo, and the doctors seem optimistic."

There was a silence. Augustine turned on the CD player, and we listened to the Talking Heads for the rest of the drive. Augustine sang along, but the only song I knew was "Once in a Lifetime".

"Here we are," Augustine chirped as we pulled into a driveway. The house was light blue with white trim, and it had a tidy flower bed in front. "Home, sweet home." I followed her up a decorative path to the front door. Augustine unlocked the door.

"Hi, I'm home!" she yelled.

"We're in the kitchen, honey!" a female voice called back.

"This way," said Augustine, kicking off her shoes. I kicked off my shoes, too, and she led me through the living room to the kitchen, where a woman was chopping carrots and a man was sitting at the table.

"Mom, Dad, this is Hazel," said Augustine. "She's a friend from Support Group."

"Hello, Hazel." said the woman, speaking for both of them. "It's a pleasure." Augustine's mother was a petite Asian, with only the slightest ghost of an accent. She had the same soft hair as Augustine except that it was shorter and coal-black, and her brown eyes were exactly the same shape as Augustine's. Her father was tall and blue-eyed and without much hair left on his shiny scalp. He had a pair of drugstore reading glasses perched far down his nose, and he was staring through them at the Sports section of the daily paper.

"We're going to watch some anime," said Augustine. "That ok?"

"Sure," said her mom. "Do you want to show Hazel your room first?"

Augustine beckoned for me to follow. She led me back through the living room and up a flight of stairs. It was like a mini-tour of her house. Every wall had photos on it- of her, of her parents, of her older brother, of extended family members.

"Who's that?" I asked, pointing to one on a little table next to her bed. It showed Augustine at about the same age she was today, her arm around a redheaded girl I didn't recognize from any other pictures.

"That's Emma," she said. There was a heaviness to her voice that I had never heard before. "She was my girlfriend, but we broke up last summer. I was diagnosed with cancer a week later."

"I'm so sorry, Augustine." I couldn't think of anything else to say. My stomach felt like it was riding the biggest roller coaster at Disney World.

Suddenly, Augustine looked worried. "You don't mind, do you? That I dated a girl?"

"Not at all," I said, trying not to smile.

Because maybe, just maybe, Augustine liked me too.


	3. Chapter 3

We ended up watching _Kiki's Delivery Service._ Augustine had asked what kind of movies I preferred: scary, romance, action, fantasy, etc. I said I didn't know, since I mostly just binge-watched _America's Next Top Model_. So Augustine picked her favorite. Apparently it's sort of "entry-level" anime, since it's in English instead of Japanese and done in one movie instead of episodes. But it was actually really good. It was about a girl who moves away from home to learn witchcraft and ends up delivering packages on her broomstick- but I won't give away the ending, because it's really worth watching.

Augustine's mom made dinner- it was Caesar salad with chicken. I ate mine without the chicken because I'm vegetarian, but it was delicious. Honestly, if my mom were that good of a cook I probably wouldn't ever complain about her kale-quinoa creations. I explained to Augustine that I didn't eat meat because I feel responsible for the death of whatever animal I'm eating. I want to limit the number of lives I am responsible for. That way, when my cancer kills me (I am sure it will), my death won't impact very many people. I can die knowing that I wasn't responsible for anyone's death, and no one is responsible for mine.

I still had some time after dinner, so Augustine and sat on her bed and chatted for a while. I liked Augustine's room: its walls were light blue and the curtains and bedspread were matching white and green. All over the walls were posters, some that Augustine had drawn and others she had bought. Many were of animes I'd never heard of, but some were things I'd heard of, like Harry Potter, and her favorite band, the Talking Heads. It shared, even radiated Augustine's open, easy warmth and character.

Eventually the talk turned to books.

"What's you favorite?"asked Augustine.

I considered making something up, so I wouldn't have to share my little world, wouldn't have to disturb its fragile pristineness. But I realized that if anyone would understand it, it was Augustine. A fellow side effect, a kindred spirit.

"_An Imperial Affliction_," I told her.

"Never heard of it," she said. Of course she hadn't. No one has. I found it at a clearance sale at a used book store. "What's it about?"

I told her as much as I possibly could without giving anything away. _An Imperial Affliction_ is about a girl named Anna who has cancer. She wants to help other sick kids, but realises how conceited it would be if she raised money to help cure cancer. It's not charity if it benefits you, is it? So instead, she raises money for a different disease.

"It's like reading about yourself," I finished. "The author, Peter van Houten, is honest and right about things in a way that no one else could ever be. No one who hasn't died, that is."

"Wow. That sounds...great. Is that where the quote you said earlier came from?" I nodded. "I'm gonna read this '_Imperial Affliction_'. The title kinda sucks, though." Augustine got up from the bed knelt by a bookshelf. It wasn't big enough to hold all the books on it, so they were stacked on top of each other and in front of each other, many precariously perched. When Augustine pulled out one book, two more came tumbling down. She shoved them back at random and returned to the bed.

"This is my favorite book," she said. "You can keep this, I have two copies." The book was called _The Dragon Code._

"What's it about?" I asked.

"You'll see. It's fantasy."

"Well, duh."

"Augustine rolled her eyes. "Whatever. But I'm telling you, it's really good." She leaned forward and grabbed a pen off the nightstand where the picture of Emma stood. "Hazel is H-a-z-e-l, right?"

"Yes." Augustine scribbled something on the inside cover, hiding it with her hand so I couldn't read over her shoulder. When she was done she closed the pen, tucked it behind her ear, and shoved the book into my hands. "Read. This. It's a pretty quick read, so I'll expect to hear about it when I see you next week."

"Do you go to school with Isaac?" I asked. The question had randomly occurred to me, but it kept nagging, making me curious.

"Yep. Lincoln High School of Indianapolis. We're in some of the same classes. What school do you go to?

"Well, I already have my GEPs, so I'm doing classes at MCC, the community college."

Augustine gave a low whistle. "And you're sixteen? You must be really smart." I didn't know how to take the compliment, so I remained silent.

Too soon, it was nine twenty-five. I had to go home. Augustine's mom drove me home. Augustine had asked to come along, but her mother insisted that she get ready for bed. Augustine didn't live far from my house and I could probably have walked, but it would take 20 minutes and it was dark out. I gave Augustine's mom directions, and at exactly 9:31 I got out of the car.

"Thank you Mrs. Waters," I said, shutting the door. I'd asked Augustine her last name so I would know how to address her parents.

Augustine's mom rolled down the window. "It's no trouble. I'll wait until you're in."

As soon I was inside, I went to my room, changed into my favorite pajamas (pink with monkeys, they're really soft) and hooked myself up to my breathing machine. It breathes for me, because my lungs are even more sucky when I'm sleeping. Then I opened Augustine's book to the inscription she'd written on the inside of the cover.

"Dear Hazel- I hope you enjoy it, I'm sure you will. If you finish before next Wednesday, text me. I have to know!

"- Augustine Waters"

It was signed with a flourish. Underneath was her phone number. I grinned, turned to the first page, and read until I fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Mom woke me up the next morning to go to class. I was still holding _The Dragon Code_, and I had a funny taste in my mouth because I'd forgotten to brush my teeth before going to bed.

The thing about Mom is that she has an obsession with holidays. On any given day, she will wake me up and say, "Do you know what day it is? Don't tell me you forgot!" Then she tells you, in an animatedly excited voice, that today is National Kale Day, or National Give Hugs to Your Teachers Day, or whatever. She could make them up and you wouldn't know the difference.

"Do you know what day it is?" Mom practically yelled as she entered my room. "Don't tell me you forgot!" I sat up and shook my head sleepily. "TODAY IS YOUR 33rd HALF-BIRTHDAY!"

"Um, great!" I was never sure how to respond to this level of cheese and enthusiasm.

"What are you going to do?"

I thought quickly. I was sure she'll be perfectly happy if I text a friend and see if they want to do something; it had worked in the past. Binge-watching America's Next Top Model just wouldn't cut it.

"I'll text Matt, see if he can see a movie. I'm sure there's something in theaters."

"Wonderful." Mom smiled sweetly. Then she spotted the book I was still holding. "It's nice to see you reading something new, for a change. Did Augustine give you that?"

"Yeah."

"Is she cute?"

My cheeks are puffed out like a chipmunk's as a side effect of my treatment. At Mom's comment, I blushed furiously, and I must have looked like someone stuck two tomatoes on the sides of my face.

"_Well?_" She would tease me like this until I gave her a straight answer.

I nodded mutely.

"_Really _cute?" I nodded again. The tomatoes turned into plums. Mom giggled and left the room. I put the book down (it had left red marks on my arms) and reached for my phone to text Matt, but I didn't look for his number in my contacts right away. Augustine had texted me about ten minutes after I went to bed.

**Augustine W.:** Got AIA on my Kindle. Surprised they had it, but reading it now.

I texted her back.

**Hazel L.:** Great. Come over after Support Group next Wednesday.

And it was only a couple of minutes before she texted me back.

**Augustine W.:** I'd love to. Will do.

My stomach did a little swoop at that. I sent Matt a quick text and then got dressed.

I met Matt at the movie theater at three. The only movie that was out was a Marvel movie. Matt had really wanted to see it, as he is a huge lover of both comics and superhero movies, but I knew virtually nothing about either one and was quite indifferent. At first glace, Matt is the nerdiest nerd in nerddom, with big glasses, messy hair, short stature, and braces. But once you get to know him, he isn't much of a nerd at all, aside from his being a complete Marvel geek. He can recite endless baseball trivia and statistics, has trouble in school, and is seemingly always dating a preppy girl in a short skirt and lots of makeup. He's also very nice and totally accepting of the fact that I am lesbian, which is why I hang out with him.

Matt loved the movie, but I had trouble following the storyline. All through it, I thought of Augustine and wished I'd brought a book. _The Dragon Code_ had me totally hooked. The writing itself wasn't anything special, but it was full of crazy plot twists and very active and original. I could see why Augustine liked it; it would never get boring.

Sometimes a week goes by in a flash and you wonder how weekends and school classes can be such a warp speed blur. But when you are waiting for something a week away, it lasts for a year. Add in your crush and your favorite book and subtract a normal, social life, and you are dealing with the torture of eternity. You are also dealing with my life.

When Wednesday finally rolled around, it seemed about time. I figured I was the only person on Earth who waited like that for something as dull as Support Group. Isaac and I expanded our sighing to include Augustine, so we had a rather entertaining sigh triangle going. Augustine added in some goofy eyebrow wiggles, and it was all I could do to stop myself from laughing audibly. Near the end, Augustine slid discreetly out of her chair. As she left the crucifix-shaped room, she muttered something in Patrick's ear and he nodded. Support Group ended ten minutes later, but Augustine still wasn't back. I went over to Patrick to see why.

"Where did Augustine go?" I asked.

"Bathroom," he said distractedly, fiddling with the tuning knobs on his guitar.

Ten minutes is a long bathroom break. I decided to see what was up. The ladies room was located upstairs near the entrance. I waited for a minute outside the door, but she still didn't come out, so I opened the door and stuck my head inside. My arrival was greeted by an odd gagging noise.

"Augustine?" I asked quietly. The only reply was a small sob and another retch. I couldn't tell which of the two stalls the sounds were coming from, so I went tapped on the door of the wheelchair accessible one. It was empty, except for a laminated blue piece of paper on the floor that said, "If You Sprinkle When You Tinkle Please Be Sweet And Wipe The Seat" written on it along with a smaller line of letters that said, "Thank You And May God Bless". It crossed my mind that God probably had better things to do than blessing people who wiped the seat, especially those who started every word in a sentence with a capital letter. God could, for example, spend that time and energy saving kids from cancer. I left the stall and knocked quietly on the second door.

"Who is it?" asked a small, choked voice.

"It's me, Augustine. It's Hazel."

"Don't come in."

"Are you okay?"

"I- I'll be fine." She retched again, and I smelled something pungent and bilic.

"Augustine…"

"I said, go away!" she half yelled, half sobbed.

"Okay, okay." I left the bathroom loudly, but waited just outside the door, listening. It felt like multiple forevers before I heard the stall door creak open and Augustine's footsteps making their way to the sink. I went back inside, feeling worried.

"I thought I told you to _leave me alone_," she hissed. There was vomit on her chin and shirt.

"How about if I hold the water on for you while you wash up?" I suggested, ignoring her. The sink had one of those annoying faucets where you have to hold the button down with one hand to keep the water running on the other.

Augustine, too, had realized that she wouldn't be able to do it herself and wash up at the same time. "You do insist on staying with me, don't you?"

"Yes. I want to help." I walked over to the sink, stowed my oxygen tank under it and out of the way, and pushed on the button with both hands. A small, cold stream of water trickled out. Luckily, the nubbins in my nose kept out some of the smell.

Augustine looked in the mirror and started to cry again. "I'm a mess."

"It's okay, it's okay, it's-" I didn't have anything else to say.

"It's my chemo. It makes me do this all the time. And it's _horrible_."

"I know. They tried chemo on me, but it didn't work. I still got all of its side effects, though."

"Speaking of side effects," Augustine said, splashing water on her chin, "I read _An Imperial Affliction_. And you were right. Those words are our lives. It _is_ like dying, bit by bit. I just don't see how someone could have written that without _dying_ in the process. And the ending- my god! I _have to_ know what happened. She just… stopped. It was heartbreaking." The cold water and feeling of being cleaner seemed to have cheered her up a bit. She started on her shirt. Luckily, her hair was braided and hadn't gotten dirty, which made the job much easier. I left the faucet and got a stack of paper towels.

When Augustine had finished washing up, we went outside. Augustine had worried that people would wonder why her shirt was all wet, but I pointed out that it was raining. And by the time we got outside, nearly everyone had left anyway. We waited for my mom to pick us up. She is never on time for anything, so it wasn't a surprise that she wasn't there yet.

When Mom finally arrived, we were both so wet that the only sign of Augustine's illness was the smell of her breath. I climbed into the front seat, rummaged around in the glove compartment, and found a pack of gum. I took a piece for myself so Mom wouldn't wonder, then passed it back to Augustine. She said nothing, but her eyes flashed gratefully. She passed the box back, three pieces emptier than it had been when I gave it to her.

At my house, we went immediately to my room. Augustine turned around while I changed out of my rain-soaked clothes, and I lent her a shirt so she wouldn't have to wear her dirty, wet one. It was a Justin Bieber t-shirt that I'd never even worn, since I didn't want people to think I liked him, but Augustine didn't care. And it had an added bonus: my mom wouldn't recognise it and ask questions. Then we chatted for a while, until dinner. Augustine had her sketchbook out the whole time, but she wouldn't let me see what she was drawing. When we went downstairs for dinner, my mom was holding a colorful, square-shaped box.

"What's that?" I asked.

"It's the Truth-or-Dare game Grandma sent you for Christmas," Mom explained. "I thought you and Augustine could try it out."

I'd hoped she would forget about Truth-or-Dare by the time we had finished dinner, but as soon as we had finished eating (except for the sauteed collard greens, which were bitter and slimy and gross) Mom pushed the box into my hands.

"I'm expecting a report," she said. And so we went to play.

"I got this from the same Grandma who gave me that shirt you're wearing," I told Augustine. "She has terrible taste."

"I can't say I'm much of a Belieber myself," Augustine laughed. "But at least she's alive. I've only got one old granddad."

"Okay," I said, ripping open a package of purple cards. "Here goes. Truth or Dare?"

"Dare."

I pulled a "Dare" card out of the pile. It was black with red swirls. "I dare you to try to touch the tip of your tongue to the tip of your nose," I read, trying to keep the mocking sarcasm in my voice to a minimum. She tried, but couldn't quite reach. Then it was my turn.

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth." Augustine pulled a purple card from the deck.

"Who's your celebrity crush?" she read.

"I'll tell you, but only if you tell me first."

"That's not how this game works! But fine. Jenna-Louise Coleman. Now you have to tell me!"

"Courtney Davies." I said it in a barely perceptible whisper, twinged with giggles.

Augustine's eyes widened. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you're lesbian!"

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does. Because I liked you from the first time I saw you, but I was _sure_ you wouldn't like me back. But now, it's possible." She reddened, which looked pretty with her freckles. "You don't have to like me, but I think you should know that _I _like _you._"

I looked into her green eyes. "I do, Augustine." I felt like I was talking through a mouthful of marshmallows. I swallowed, but the marshmallows didn't go away. "I like you too."


	5. Chapter 5

I heard from Augustine again on Friday.

**Augustine W.:** We are going on a date tomorrow, assuming you're free.

But my sense had finally caught up with me. You see, when I was thirteen, before they tried Phalanxifor, everyone was sure I was going to die. And one night in the PICU, (that's Pediatric Intensive Care Unit) my mom told me it was okay to let go, if I had to. I think she thought I was asleep or unconscious, because then she started to cry. That's pretty bad, since my mom never cries in front of me. But it's what she said after that that resonated with me. She buried her face in my dad's chest and said, "I won't be a mom anymore," and the way she said it made me feel like if I died, the whole world- the whole darn _universe_- would end. Ever since then, I had minimized my contact with others. I am a bomb, already detonated by my cancer. And when I go off, little bits of shrapnel will hit everyone who knows me. I had seen what that will do to my mom, and I couldn't bear to add anyone else to that list of people who will be affected. If I went on the date with Augustine, she would be on that list. If not- well, I'd just be another high school crush. She'd survive her lymphoma, forget about me, get married to some beautiful, healthy woman, and continue her life from there.

**Hazel L.:** Sorry, can't.

**Augustine W.: **Why not? You'll need a good excuse, since I'm dying to see you.

I didn't want to tell her. I knew she would think it was silly and ignore it, but I couldn't let anyone else down by dying, I just couldn't. I couldn't lie either, though, since I'm probably the worst liar in the world. My lies are transparent even when I'm texting, and that's saying something.

**Hazel L.: **I can't let you down.

**Augustine W.:** WTF is that supposed to mean?

**Hazel L.:** If we start dating, then when I die I will have let you down but if we don't you can forget me & survive happily.

**Augustine W.:** That's ridiculous. I love you & that just made me luv u more

**Hazel L.:** I'm really serious. I just can't do it.

She didn't text me back. I felt sad and lonely, but I knew it had to be done. Liking her so much just made the idea of letting her down, of allowing her to be sad for me, much worse. Even so, I couldn't shake off the dismal melancholy that had gripped me ever since I pressed Send. No matter how much I told myself otherwise, some little voice in the back of my head regretted it. She hadn't texted me back. Our relationship was over.

I spent Saturday reading in my room. I'd put _The Dragon Code_ under my bed. I'd finished it anyway, and I felt sad looking at it. Around noon, I finally left my room. That is, I got dressed and went out to the living room to watch _America's Next Top Model_ for the umptillionth time. Just as I was about to press play (I've taped who-knows-how-many episodes), there was a knock on the door. I was closest, so I got off the couch and dragged my oxygen tank over to answer it.

My eyes widened. Augustine was standing on the other side of the threshold.

"Hazel. You can't do this. It's honorable and all that, but you're letting your cancer become you. You can't live your life trying to disappear before you die. And I like you- love you- enough already that I couldn't just forget you if you died. I'm in your Support Group- you can't avoid me forever. Unless you just don't want me as your girlfriend." She'd obviously rehearsed this spiel before she knocked. But the problem was, she was right. Before I'd been diagnosed with cancer, I would have walked to the park to read or gone shopping with a friend, whereas after I spent all my time cooped up inside, rereading the same book and watching the same TV show, avoiding human contact. I was becoming an inert lump of cancer cells, wasting away indoors. I hung my head.

"Where do you want to go?" I asked quietly.

"Just to the park, to hang out. Are you coming, or are you going to stay here and condemn yourself to a lonely, indoor life?"

I turned around. "Mom!" I called out to the kitchen, or wherever the hell she was. "I'm going to the park with Augustine! That ok?"

Mom wandered out of the kitchen (I was right!). "Don't be out too long," she said wearily.

"Ok, Mom. Bye."

"I love you, Honey."

I turned back to Augustine. "Um, ok. Let's go." Augustine grinned warmly, grabbed my arm and pulled me out the door lightly with a slight skip in her step. Her musical voice was a whimsical flute as we chatted about nothing in particular. The park was only a few blocks away, so we walked there, side by side on the pavement, talking and laughing. It cheered me up, having a happy Augustine by my side. When we reached the park, we found an unoccupied bench under a willow tree and sat beneath the graceful foliage. People say the guy is supposed to make the moves in a relationship, but when there is no guy it's more like playing checkers. She made a move, then I made a move, then she responded with another. She moved in close so our legs were touching, I rested my head on her shoulder. And then she held my hand and I knew I was in love. I wished time could be frozen and everything could have stayed exactly the way it was, right then, right there, forever.

But perfection is rare, and fleeting at best. As I reached up my hand to stroke Augustine's silky hair, the elation seemed to drain from her joyous face.

"I'm losing my hair," she said unhappily. "They're going to just shave it all off soon, so I don't have chunks missing." She was quiet for a moment before adding, "I like my hair." I stroked her long, soft locks gently, combing my fingers through the tangles and twirling my fingers in the shiny, light brown strands. I'd always wished to have hair like hers. My hair got tangled so easily that when it had grown back I'd just kept it short.

Augustine sighed sadly, so I changed the subject. "What were you drawing last time I saw you, that you wouldn't let me see?"

Her smile returned, if only slightly. "Oh, that. Here, do you want to look?" She let go of my hand and opened her sketchbook. I hadn't even noticed she'd brought it. Augustine and her sketchbook were inseparable the same way people and their left hands are inseparable- you don't really notice peoples' left hands. After leafing through a few pages, she turned the book around to face me and shoved it into my hands. I stared at the page. A perfect anime portrait of me stared back. It had the same pixie cut, the same chipmunk cheeks, even the same little dimple in my chin. I grinned involuntarily.

"You can keep it if you want," she offered, "On one condition: you don't abandon me." She took both my hands in hers and looked me straight in the eyes. "I love you and I want to be with you. And even if you die before me-which you might not- I'd rather be happy with you now and in mourning later than lonely because we were never together at all. Okay?"

"Okay," I whispered. "Okay."

Augustine squeezed my hands. I don't know for how long we sat there like that, holding hands under the willow. I loved her and she loved me, and that was all that mattered. 

* * *

><p>Isaac, on the other hand, hadn't been quite so lucky with <em>his<em> girlfriend. The date had been set for the surgery that would leave him blind: he had one week of vision left. One week, he told Augustine and me, to see his girlfriend, Monica, in her full visual beauty. Monica hadn't thought of it this way, though. According to Isaac's sniffly, sarcastic account, she'd decided it was "too much" for her to have her boyfriend go blind, and had broken up with him to spare herself the stress.

It was Sunday, and the three of us were at Augustine's house, sitting on the living room couch. A _Doctor Who_ rerun was playing on the television, but none of us were watching it. Isaac was rather upset about the breakup (that's an understatement; he would mention Monica every few minutes and then wail like a puppy with severe separation anxiety) and, in an effort to cheer him up, Augustine had invited him and me over. Sitting on the couch, ignoring _Doctor Who_, and talking about Monica clearly wasn't doing the trick.

"Honestly," said Isaac for the bazillionth time, "_I'm_ going blind and _she_ can't deal with it? How effed up is that! I can't believe I ever dated such a moronic wimp!" He gave several whiny sighs. Augustine, annoyed by the way her attempt at being friendly was turning out, huffily turned up the volume on the television until it was loud enough that it hurt our ears. We sat there in a grumpy silence for a while, covering our ears and trying to figure out what was going on in _Doctor Who_.

Eventually, Isaac had the sense to turn down the volume. "So," he said, finally calm enough to change the subject. "Are you guys, like, together?"

"Um," I responded very eloquently, shooting Augustine an awkward glance.

"Well..." said Augustine just as awkwardly.

"That's a yes," Isaac deduced. "Right?"

Augustine nodded and looked at me for confirmation. I felt my cheeks burn. "I guess," I said.

Issac smiled for the first time all day. "That's actually great. I mean... yeah. Really great."

"Thanks." I didn't know what else to say.

Augustine reached out to touch my hand. "I agree," she said with a wide, genuine smile. "Really great."


	6. Chapter 6

I had just sat down to dinner on Monday night when my pocket started to vibrate and play the classic iPhone "Marimba" music. My mother gave me a stern look.

"Hazel Grace Lancaster. How many times do I have to tell you _not to bring your phone to the table?_"

"Sorry, Mom."

"Not 'I'm sorry'. Go put your phone away, and you can look at it _after_ you enjoy the dinner that I was kind enough to cook for you."

I got up and went to my room to plug in my phone. I couldn't help sneaking a peek at who had called.

_Missed call, _read a green bar at the top of the screen. _Augustine W. 6:32 PM. _

I returned to the dinner table, my mind lost in anticipation. Why was she calling? Had something awful happened? Or was she just lonely?

After wolfing down a bland dinner of broccoli, rice, and reheated corn, I practically flew to my bedroom to check my phone. My parents gaped after me, but didn't say anything. I turned my phone on to listen to the voicemail.

"Hello Hazel. This is Augustine. Look, I know it's dinnertime and I'm sorry, but I've got this _brilliant_ idea. Call me back and I'll tell you- I've already eaten dinner. Love you! Buh-bye."

I didn't hesitate to call her back. After two long rings, she finally answered.

"Hazel?"

"Yeah. What's up?"

"Okay, so I reread _An Imperial Affliction_."

"And?"

"And we need to contact Peter van Houten."

"What? Why? What do you mean?" I spluttered. I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't that.

"He can tell us what happened to Anna. He can sympathize with us. Hazel, he's your favorite author. Don't tell me you haven't always wanted to meet your favorite author!"

"It's impossible."

"What?"

"It's impossible. Of course I've tried to contact him, but he hasn't got a website, or an about-the-author, or a Facebook page, or anything. It's like he exists only below the title."

"Do you mind if I call you back?"

"Why? No."

"Great. Hang on…" There was a click as Augustine hung up. I put down my phone slowly, plopped down on my bed, and began leafing through _An Imperial Affliction._ Was there a hidden secret between lines of text, a clue in the story that I'd missed? But no, I saw only the words I'd read so many times before, nothing new, or special, or revolutionary. I lay back against my pillow. Augustine was wrong. Peter van Houten was a ghost beyond the reach of his fans. I'd never know his secret: the ending to his story. I slipped into a mindless stupor, neither asleep nor awake enough to have thoughts or feelings.

When my phone rang, I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Hello? Augustine?"

"Hazel, yeah. You were wrong. See, Peter van Houten's got this agent, Lidewij Vliegenthart- I'm probably mispronouncing that- and I sent her an email around the time I called you. So I checked my email just now, and she emailed me back."

"_What? You're joking!_" gasped. I couldn't believe it.

"I'm forwarding it to you now."

"I'm gonna check. I'll call you back."

"Sure." I hung up and pressed the round button at the bottom of my phone and clicked the icon for my email. Sure enough, Augustine had forwarded an email from someone with a name I had no chance of pronouncing.

"Dear Ms. Waters," it read.

"It was a pleasure to hear about you and your friend Hazel, and it warmed both my and Peter's hearts to know how much his book means to you. For these reasons, we invite you and Hazel to visit us in Amsterdam to discuss the book. Perhaps Peter will even give you some answers to your questions. We would love to meet our fans. Hope to see you for real!

"Sincerely,

"Lidewij Vliegenthart"

I read the email several times, then pinched myself of the arm. I didn't wake up, so I called Augustine back. She answered right away.

"I read the email," I told her.

"It's great, right? We can _actually visit_ Peter van Houten."

"I really want to. It's just… I'm sure it's really expensive and everything…"

"You know the Wish Genies?"

"Yeah, that nonprofit group that grants sick kids' wishes. I used my wish to go to Disneyland when I was thirteen."

"Why would you waste it on that? Anyway, I was thinking of using my wish to visit Peter van Houten."

"No. That would be wasting your wish on _me._"

"I want to meet him too."

"No. Just… no."

"Why are you being so stubborn and ungrateful? I'm _offering to use my wish for this_. I really want to do it, but it wouldn't be right for me to go without you."

"I'm not being ungrateful."

"Sure you're not."

"I'm not. You're the one who thinks it's _romantic_ to drag me halfway around the world. I'll probably die before we get there!"

"Hazel!" Augustine's voice sounded choked. "I never said that."

"Well, you implied it."

"Why are you being so rude?"

"You're not exactly being the understanding one here!"

"Fine then. You'll just never get your answers!" There was a click as Augustine hung up. I tried to call back, but she declined the call.

At Support Group, it seemed that Augustine was still not talking to me. She barely glanced at me the whole time, and I didn't see any point in trying to talk to her. At the prayer part of the session, though, she shared something with the group.

"I think we should all pray for Isaac," she suggested, "Since he's not here because he's having his other eye cut out. He'll be able to take visitors tomorrow, and I'm sure he'd appreciate the company if anyone came."

I made a mental note of that. I knew how much it meant for a friend to visit at such times from experience. And it wasn't like I had any other plans; Augustine would surely visit him, and we weren't speaking to each other anyway.

At around quarter to four on Thursday, I walked through the doors of Memorial Hospital. A smiling receptionist informed me that there was another friend here to see Isaac, that he was currently asleep, and that we would both be allowed to visit him when he awoke. Then she pointed me toward the waiting room and turned her attention to the elderly woman in line behind me. I went through the doorway to the waiting room. Inside was an overweight man reading a several-month-old _Golf Digest_, and on the other side of the room, Augustine. I sat down next to the _Golf Digest_ man and stared at my shoes, careful not to meet Augustine's eyes.

"Hazel." I glanced up at the sound of my name. "Come here." Augustine was tapping the vacant seat next to her. I had no choice but to take it. I wasn't really mad at her anymore, I realized, it was that I worried she would still be mad at me. I sat down and forced myself to look at her.

"Hazel..." her voice was quiet. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I want to say it was my chemotherapy making act weird, and maybe it is, but I can't. I chose to act like that, and I really, really regretted it. Still do."

"I'm sorry too."

"What have you got to be sorry for?"

"I fought back. It takes two to tango, doesn't it?"

"I suppose." Augustine relaxed a little and recrossed her legs so the other leg was on top. "Are you still mad at me?"

"No. Not if you're not mad at me, anyway."

"I'm not mad at you." She sighed and reached out to touch my face. I let her, too. Her cool fingers felt nice as they stroked my cheek. "I'm just glad to have you back."

"I love you," I whispered. I could have kissed her. I might have, too, if a nurse in a toothpaste-green smock hadn't come in to tell us that Isaac was ready to see us. We got up and followed her down a hallway. No one spoke. We entered the room.

"Issac," called the nurse very loudly. "Your visitors are here!"

Isaac sat on the bed with a tube in his arm and a heart monitor attached to his chest. There was a gauzy mask over his eyes to cover the empty sockets. "Jeez, lady," he told the nurse. "You don't have to yell. I'm blind, not deaf, remember?"

The well-meaning nurse pressed her lips together. As she left the room, I heard her mutter in Augustine's ear, "He's having some trouble adapting to his, uh, disability."

"Did she leave?" asked Isaac loudly. The nurse took her cue and scurried out, closing the door behind her. "She didn't even tell me who's here!"

"It's me, Augustine," said Augustine.

"Hazel's here too," I added.

"Hi Isaac," said Augustine. "I know you can't see us, but we're here to see you."

"Oh" said Isaac, "I didn't expect you to come so soon."

"We wanted to see you, to see how you're doing," Augustine explained.

"Stop saying the word 'see'," said Isaac. "It's making me envious."

"Sorry," said Augustine quickly, then, "Hazel, you don't have to stand in the doorway like that."

I blushed and moved closer to Isaac's bed. It's hard not to be shy when you're in someone's hospital room, trying to be cheerful despite the obvious fact that someone in the room is badly sick or injured and no one in the room wants to be there at all. "Uh, hi Isaac."

"Hey, Hazel." Isaac shifted in his bed and swept his hair out of his face. "Thank you guys for coming. I mean, no one but my parents have been in. Like, even Monica-" he sighed and shifted again- "isn't around anymore. And it's not like I can read or watch TV or anything."

"What have you been doing with your time?" I asked.

Isaac motioned to his left. "See the headphones on the table there? I've been listening to music and books on tape, whatever. Or sleeping."

"What headset?" asked Augustine.

"There," I said, pointing to a little table on Isaac's right. "Isaac, the table is on your other side."

"I honestly don't give a sh-"

"Did you know there was chocolate in here?" Augustine interrupted. There was a little basket on the windowsill, and Augustine had noticed that it was full of Hershey's Kisses.

"What? Chocolate? Where?" The thought of creamy, sugary milk chocolate seemed to have driven all the grumpiness from Isaac's mind in the blink of an eye.

"Right here, On the windowsill. Here..." Augustine grabbed about five oversize, tinsel-wrapped chocolate chips and dumped them onto Isaac's lap. Then she took two more from the basket and threw them at me.

"Hey, stop!" I laughed, fumbling like an idiot in an attempt to catch one. Both fell on the ground. I picked them up and threw them back at Augustine, but missed by a mile. She laughed, stuck out her tongue playfully, and casually reached into the basket. I ducked, but instead of launching more Hershey's Chocolatey Projectiles at me, she unwrapped one and popped it into her mouth.

"Truce?" She said through a mouthful of chocolate.

"Truce," I agreed. She handed me a Kiss and I ripped open the foil by pulling on the little paper flag.

"Is that what that thing's for?" asked Augustine. "I always wondered. I just unwrap the foil."

I shrugged. "I don't know, but did you know that they're called 'Niggly Wigglies'?"

"You made that up!" said Isaac, opening a Kiss by its "Niggly Wiggly".

"I did not. Look it up."

"Will do," said Isaac, "Once I figure out how."

Time crawls in hospitals, with all the waiting and worrying, but before I knew it, it was time to leave. The nurse returned to usher us out, clearly pleased by Isaac's change in attitude.

"Bye, Isaac!" Augustine and I said as we left.

"Bye, lovebirds."

The waiting room was empty. The only occupied seat held only the old Golf Digest. "Need a ride home?" I asked Augustine.

"That would be great, thanks," she replied, pulling out her phone to text her mom. When she finished, she put her phone in her pocket and draped an arm around my shoulders. "I'm glad you were here with me, Hazel," she said. And then, to my great surprise, she kissed me on the cheek. I gazed at her in wonderment. She just smiled. And suddenly, without knowing what I was doing, I kissed her back on the mouth. She tightened her grip on my shoulders, gently prying my mouth open with her lips. I forgot that I was in a hospital waiting room, that my friend lay sightless only a few paces away. For just a few long seconds, she was the only other person on Earth.

I drove the two of us home with Augustine riding shotgun beside me.

"You know," I said, "I really do want to go to Amsterdam. I'm sorry."

"I'll tell the Genies that. Summer break starts in two weeks. They'll let us both go."

"Really?"

"Of course. Mind if I turn on the radio?" She pressed the Preset 6 button. Some low-quality mariachi music blared out of the speakers. "Is this your jam, or can I change it?"

"I've never even heard that station. Go right ahead."

She twiddled the knob. "This is my favorite station," she said. A song ended and "Once in a Lifetime" came on.

"Once in a lifetime, same as it ever was…" Suddenly, the words seemed to make sense. An event only happens once, and it doesn't change. That's good, I supposed. My first kiss would always be so wonderful.


End file.
